


Master Locks and Skooma

by Dastardly



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 03:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10505571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dastardly/pseuds/Dastardly
Summary: This piece is a work of pure crack. Pay no mind. You owe me "salt piles" if you laugh.





	

Somewhere, deep in the vast region of Skyrim, a special breed of terror lays hidden among the crypts, caverns, and bandit camps. Only the strongest of adventurers, whose knees are tough enough to withstand the pain from an arrow's tip, will ever even have the honor of meeting one of them. Perhaps they choose the most hard-to-reach places to protect themselves, or maybe they are just that rare. Whichever the case, it is truly a wonder to live in a world with such magnificence.

They are persistent. They are fearsome. They are equivalent to the divinity of the Gods. Their beauty is to be respected.

They. Are. Master Locks.

Millions have struggled to retrieve the treasures that are pick-lock-blocked by these beasts. Millions have failed.

They are experts, nay, _masters_ at their profession. Even those with a boastful one-hundred in pick-locking have found them to be troublesome. Failures have included rage-filled fits, beating the chest until your knuckles bleed dry, cursing the Divines, screaming so loud that the echoes reach High Hrothgar, and, of course, giving the fuck up.

Today, our friendly, neighborhood Dovahkiin has volunteered to attempt one. The legend has spoken that, in the past, she would just skip looting those chests that are locked with such incredible strength. No one could possibly blame her for retreating when every lock-pick in her pocket was at stake.

Aha! Well played!

It is time to face the challenge, however! So step it up, Dragonborn!

"So far, I've been in eleven crypts, fifteen caves, and a few hundred other odd places! I have one-hundred in pick-locking and all of my perks! Where in the Void can a girl get some jester-humping gold?" The steaming Nord stomped up the road, clenching an axe in each hand firmly. The merry man who accompanied her flinched at the comment, but said nothing about it; only fantasized. Their awkward relationship could be saved for a different story, anyway.

After another half-mile listening to the Listener's ranting, Cicero raised a gloved hand and spoke, "Maybe you should loot _all_ the chests?" While it was true that his absolute favorite person on the face of Tamriel was, in fact, the woman he followed on all sorts of misadventures, he couldn't stand to hear the bitch complain about not finding any decent loot when she wasn't even trying.

"What? I do loot all the chests, you mentally-ill buffoon of a man!" Of course, the Dragonborn was only insulting him out of love.

"B-but Cicero has seen you pass many!"

"Because t-those are…you idiot!" The girl flung a blow at him, which would certainly have left a mark if the man had not dodged the attack. "I'll rip yo-"

"LOOK!" Cicero jumped in place like a retarded toddler and pointed ahead of the road. The Dragonborn turned her attention to see a lone chest just sitting there, right in the middle of the path. "There! Go open it!"

In Skyrim, there were many treasures stowed away in the oddest of places, but a chest sitting in the middle of a worn path like this? Sketchy. This was definitely sketchy. Where would the plot have ever been if the story did not proceed as it is about to? Who knows?

The Dragonborn shook her head. "Totally not an obvious trap, Captain Braindead." She lifted her hand again at Cicero, but a strangely familiar, seductive voice arose from absolutely nowhere:

"COME. TOUCH ME WITH YOUR SPECIAL TOOLS."

"What the serious-" The Nord started, but was cut off abruptly by that retard of a jester.

"THE LOCK SPEAKS. WE MUST GO, LISTENER. IT DEMANDS." The jester skipped up the road. Defeated, the Dragonborn followed.

"YES. YESSSSSSS. CLOOOSER." The lock coaxed. It had a deep, throaty accent that reminded one of a Redguard male. It only seemed to get louder until the two adventurers paused right in front of it, then it whispered, "Yesssssssss. Touch me with your stick. The nice, cool, metal object of pleasure."

Immediately, Cicero pulled off his motley. Like, all of it in one move. Somehow. Then, he proceeded to shove his manly man log right inside the keyhole. He made little grunting noises, too, as the Dragonborn stood, horrified by the situation. "ALL HAIL THE GREAT WILLY."

The lock seemed to be humming to itself, not giving a damn. That deep, familiar hum was arousing some suspicion.

Finally, Cicero pulled out with a loud "AAAAAAGH" and flung himself to the ground.

"K.O!" The lock shouted.

This is where our hero really starts to wonder why in Oblivion she was running around Skyrim with a fool in the first place.

"IT IS YOUR TURN," the lock spoke in a bored tone.

The Dragonborn hesitantly reached into her pocket and pulled out one, shiny, gleamy lockpick. "I guess this will do?" Without waiting for an answer, she shoved the piece of metal inside the lock. She did, of course, kind of regret doing it in that moment.

"THAT MAKES ME MOIST," the hunk of metal proclaimed.

"WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING AT ME?"

"TUUUURRRRN IT. TUUUURRRRN ME ON."

"UM, OKAY." The Dragonborn obeyed. She turned that pick hard.

"OH, YES. OOOOOOH, YESSSS. UNF." As the lock climaxed, it spilled gold coins from its slit.

"Oh, thanks. I'll use this for Skooma. And salt piles, if you know what I mean. Huehuehue."

"THIS IS NOT OVER." The chest rattled once more and a sapphire was born. "NURTURE IT."

The awkward scene sort of came to an even more awkward pause. Cicero lay on the ground, unconscious for some reason; the Dragonborn stared at the chest, fixated by the fact it had just spilled all kinds of treasures from its lock, yet the damn thing wasn't even open. The chest itself just vibrated, as if in anticipation, but didn't speak. Yes, it was all very awkward, and the silence lasted for fucking ever.

After some time, the chest stopped moving completely, and finally spoke, "Well, this has been a very rewarding experience. I'm quite pleased that I was able to fool the both of you with this clever disguise. Perhaps you can use this technique on your next mission, Listener."

It took only a second of confusion before Nazir busted out of the chest, flinging the seemingly-heavy lid several feet away from himself. "Surprise! You never guessed it, huh? Yes, I was the MASTER LOCK! Very clever, indeed. Such an inexpensive disguise, too. You ought to consider it."

The man chuckled to himself for a good three minutes, then began walking off while congratulating himself on his well-thought-out prank.

"I hate that guy," the Dragonborn mumbled to herself before turning around to assess the situation of having an unconscious, deadbeat partner-in-crime.


End file.
